Monday, April 15, 2013

I've a good friend, and a rider that came down bad sick over in Turlock. For those who don't live in California that's just across the mountains that contain Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks from our camp near Lone Pine...

Only, there's no road across those mountains, so you've got to ride down and around one end or the other. It so happens that our camp is closer to the southern end.

Now, the smartphone said it was faster to ride clear down to Bakersfield, catch 99 there and turn back north. When I climbed on the bike that's the way I was planning to go. But, pretty much as always, when I got to that part of the road where the choice had to be made turn off 395 onto 14 to take the "Fast" road... or turn west toward Lake Isabella on the "slow" road...

... I couldn't resist that lil' demon on my shoulder... and the bike leaned west.

Ok... I've rode that road before and it wasn't that slow... so it's no big deal... only... you get to Lake Isabella and there's another choice... stay on 178 and roll into the Kern River canyon... or... cut a bit NW onto 155 through the southern tip of those mountains I'm goin' around...

Uh... Yeah... I turned off the "Slow" road... onto the... OMG, liver quivering, double rectified, jiggly quivers inducing two lanes of laid back on itself, tormented bent asphalt that is 155 as it rolls between Wofford Heights and Glennville. To say it's the worst bit of badly sanded twisties I've ever ridden on the spring time would be a fairly accurate statement...

WHooEE! You come down a short grade at 40 into a 15 mph hairpin that has two 8" wide tracks through the sand... accelerate back up the grade on the other side into a tight right hander, trying hard to stay in that narrow strip of clear pavement...

When you misjudge your speed a bit and start drifting out of the clear track you feel both ends starting to drift... Uh Huh... your attention is juuuuuuust a bit focused!

... swing back around a tight left hander and there, slowly crossing your "Clear" bit of pavement... is a snake. No time to stop, nowhere to turn...

Now, the biological process of a churning liver creates a vacuum which causes a suction in the lower sections of your colon. The end result being that when you pull out just up the road, grinning like an idiot, to cool out in a wide spot and take a picture or two, you are prevented from climbing off your bike for several minutes until the vacuum dissipates. :)

Yeah, that's an interesting piece of road!

When you get past the worst of it you come into some country where you might relax your concentration on the road... to actually be able to look around a bit.

Oak trees of some variety blanket the hills on both sides. Cattle laze in the shade of the trees. The grass is greening in the spring, flowers are starting to pop... the sun is shining in a clear blue sky... the bike throbs and rumbles as I let off rolling into a series of sweeping bends...

Kern county is a pretty fine place to ride!

Then too fast you drop down out of the hills into the open grasslands below.

Just below there I ran into a country of orchards and vineyards where the perfume of something that was flowering was often so strong I almost couldn't take a full breath!

I caught 99 at Delano and rolled up to Turlock... Now... 99 is nothing to write home about. It's just a road that gets you from here to there. blehhh...

But... at a fuel stop along there somewhere a guy pulled up beside me and climbed out of his car. I was just getting ready to climb back on and finish my run for the day...

... and he says; "Man, that is a beautiful motorcycle!" ... uh ... it had me a lil' speechless for a couple of seconds...

He was in the process of closing the door on a canary yellow Ferrari that he'd just climbed out of. :)

Darryl was a bit lucky, and it appears his stroke is one of those mild ones that a fella has a much improved chance of a 100% recovery from, though it still takes a while.

After a good visit for a couple of hours in the evening and then again in the morning I climbed back on the Raider for the return ride to Lone Pine.... This time with a rising wind. Most of the time it was behind me or quartering from behind so a non issue..

Again... 99 is just miles of... miles. The views along that central valley... well, it ain't ugly or anything like that... it just isn't anything that's memorable...

So back to Bakersfield I rode... coming "home" I cut off on hwy 178 to ride east through the Kern River canyon to Lake Isabella...

Suh-WHEET! That section of hwy 178, especially from Bakersfield to Lake Isabella is ... one of the sweetest bits of asphalt I've ever chased the paint stripes on.

It's the sort of road that you don't have to "push it" to get the best of it. You just pick a gear and sweep on through... punching it between corners on the short straights, engine throbbing as it pulls you down into the corner without brakes...

The bike stands back up straight coming out of the left hander and immediately leans back right sweeping into a fast right, only to come back left... back and forth you sweep and roll... it's a Sweet Freaking Ride!

... just that smooth, flowing sort of dance on the two lane where you hit a rhythm that has you hoping the road never ends.

It's a nice bit of riding east of Lake Isabella as well, but that western section, in the Kern River Canyon... is SOOOO-Purb!

... and then... I turned down off the low pass back into Indian Wells Valley, chasing a couple of Harleys... ever'body I'm sure just grinning in the sunshine... and started back up 395 Toward Olancha...

... and the wind that had been behind me... picked up several notches and came strong and steady straight out of the west. It had me leaning at 10 degrees or more just to stay straight down the road... Occasional bursts knocked me over a foot or so as the Yamaha ripped through it at 75 mph.

Friday, April 12, 2013

How could a person have ridden through life and not have made mistakes? You'd have to be a pretty callous slob to not regret the major F#@* Ups... right?

Over the years I've come 'round to take the perspective that; Where I've been and what I've done is what's made me who I am... And I Like Me... So in that respect, claiming to not have any regrets could be an honest place to be.

I got a message yesterday that a food friend of mine, who I've ridden tailgunner with for a couple of thousand miles is layin' up in a hospital a few hundred miles away. He had a stroke and is partially paralyzed. I know for a fact he was not... is not... ready to park his bike...

It's times like this that life... and the inescapable loss of it is shoved up in your face Not to Be Ignored.

Which brings me back to regrets... If pushed I'd have to say any I have would need to be listed in one of two categories; and even those are so intertwined as to be inseparable.

The opinions of others and too many things left undone...

Life is so fragile... so quick. My regrets at this point; and I could have forty years left, or forty minutes; is having surrendered too many times to fear. Fear of things that likely weren't even there. Fears that have led me to leave Things Undone...

I have found myself surrendering to fabricating excuses to NOT pursue some thing that deep down in my soul... I wanted to do... due only to the opinions of others.

I find it regretful, and a bit comical, that though I claim loud and boldly; I don't care what people think... the reality is often far different. Too many times I have cared. Cared so much that I allowed Those People to choose my life rather than me, and ended up cursing myself for cowardice. It can't be denied, I've surrendered to exactly that fear. The fear that I'd be ridiculed for chasing something that was MY dream.

That is something I find hilarious. I've been in situations, so many times you can't help but ask; Boy? Are you learning disabled or what? ... where I stood against things that could take my very life... Sure, inside I had the jiggly quivers... but I stood rock steady. There was nothing else my pride could abide.

yet... have a few old women point their fingers and giggle and the crusty old biker cowboy is ducking for cover... WTF? :)

The consequence of that regret is; My willingness to criticize others for anything other than rude, arrogant, judgmental behavior inflicted on others is pretty much gone. I've come to firmly hold the belief that a person has the Right to make stupid decisions... without the interference of a bunch of cackling "Old Ladies"... as long as the only physical consequence lands on him... It's His/Her life.

Leave 'em the hell alone.

The second consequence is that now, after 60 summers, my worry about what others think of me is finally met with a shrug and a wave. Do I care? sure... I think ever'body does, whether they want to admit it or not... just... it's lost its power over me...

The thing that is most important is what I think of that ugly bastard that greets me in the mirror every morning. That's 'bout the only thing I've any control over. Finally, after all these years, I pretty much ride my own road.

You know some will say that's an awful self centered way of thinking... I say; I am a mirror. How I feel inside... about me... is what I reflect to the world around me. If I am accepting of my own faults and limitations... I can't help but look at ever'body else with the same eye... It's kinda that "Charity starts at home" sort of thinking...

I once read that the greatest improvement of life would be to be born at eighty and gradually approach 18... Now THAT would be SUH-WHEET!

Monday, April 8, 2013

She waits, impatient as the light fades; Angry that I'm inside with that Other woman. One flesh and blood... the Other... metal and fire...

*She waits impatient in the fading light*

We should be Night Riding She whispers...

...not sitting here unmoving in the Desert. We should be together. I should be carrying you through the wind!

Come. Turn me on. Light me up and let's fly.

~~~~

It's been too long since I rode the dark roads.

Too many riders fear the dark and pull the key before the sun sets...

I love the road at night.

I may love the night more than the day. The timid run for the lighted safety inside the walls... fearing what might come out of the dark. They hide from the dark, from the rain, from the wind, from the heat and the cold; and in the hiding miss too much of the living.

The quiet and the lonely roads with the moon shining above are a joy. The cool of a summer night... High above, stars sparkling in the velvety blackness. The silhouettes of the mountains against the dark of the moonlit horizon.

It is a beautiful time for a rider. The rumbling of the machine through the night wraps a quiet serenity around my soul.

Night roads, Un-peopled by dangerous unseeing, uncaring cagers, hurling unguided, two ton weapons down the pavement... eyes on their phones, rather than the road... are a sweetness to the soul.

Abandoned by the texters and commuters, with the center line winding off into the darkness, the night road leads those on who have learned to love its personality after sunset.

Life has a way of diverting a man from his loves... the night road is a joy I miss... I shall return.

But with the dawn we did ride...

*Sonja waiting as the sun lights the Sierras*

From our camp in the Alabama hills of California...

... My Sonja carried me south through the morning chill.

*Yamaha Raider and Mt Whitney ~ A pair of Beauties*

Mt. Whitney and the Sierras painted a glorious picture blocking our way west...

We split the wind down U.S. 395... through the Southern end of the Owens Valley. Past Owens Lake. Her V Twin rumbled through Olancha and past Haiwee Reservoir...

A thin layer of chilling overcast moved in to block out the sun... and tease me with unconquered blue sky to the west.

When 395 cut off to the SE where it entered the Indian Wells Valley, She led me onto Hwy14 and in a short ways we could finally turn west on Hwy 178, run around the end of the long chain of high peaks and leave the clouds behind.

The road climbed up out of the Valley to a low crest... Though it wasn't high, and the sun had finally found me again, the morning chill had not yet broken.

We were able to race out from under that overcast that had crawled across the sky and covered us as we rolled south. The sky was bright and blue but its power still struggled to chase away the chill of the night.

Looking back... the clouds couldn't keep pace with the machine that carried me...

Ahead lay the South fork of the Kern River, Weldon and Lake Isabella, the goal for my ride...

In that last small town I dealt with the business that was the excuse for the ride... and climbed back on the machine that keeps my soul fulfilled.

As the day warmed, together we tested yet again the bonds of man and machine. We danced through the hills in a rumbling waltz that never fails to lift a worn spirit.

Upon our return to camp... a sunset whispered... Come... Ride... the Night belongs the the Riders...